


Yours Will I Be

by donutsweeper



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon and Kieren and a quiet evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours Will I Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traincat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/gifts).



> A Yuletide treat for Traincat.
> 
> Thanks to measured_words for the beta!

It was a typical evening for Kieren and Simon, not necessarily doing anything other than just being together. On this occasion, Simon was slouched at the far end of the sofa, lounging against its back with his bare feet up on the coffee table, slowly paging through the book in his hand. Kieren watched him read from where was sitting at the other end of the sofa, his back against the arm and a sketchbook open on his lap. He had one socked foot tucked under him and the other stretched out in front of him, his toes just able to brush against Simon's thigh. Simon was absentmindedly stroking Kieren's sole with his thumb as he read. It was distracting - Kieren found it hard to concentrate on his sketching with Simon's hand on his foot, but the touch was so beautifully intimate that Kieren didn't even consider speaking up to ask him to stop.

After a lot of trial and error, Kieren had found that soft pencils worked the best for capturing Simon's features and unique nature, but he did wonder what it would be like to try oil paints someday. For now though he worked on capturing the shading of Simon's favourite sweater, the bulky grey one, and the way its wide collar lay against his neck yet managed to reveal just a hint of his collarbone. It was exacting work, he was using much more detail than he usually bothered with, but he couldn't help it - there was something about drawing Simon made him want to be a better artist. 

"What are you reading?" Kieren asked after realizing he had been working for hours and through it all Simon had been intent on his book.

"Poetry. A book of sonnets to be precise. Currently, I'm reading Petrarch's Sonnet Number Eight," he replied. 

"What's it about?"

Simon eyed him over the book. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

Kieren looked up from his work for a moment, foregoing the shading he was working on. "You'll do that for me?"

"Of course," Simon said. He cleared his throat and began to read,

"Set me where as the sun doth parch the green,  
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice;  
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;  
With proud people, in presence sad and wise;  
Set me in base, or yet in high degree,  
In the long night, or in the shortest day,  
In clear weather, or where mists thickest be,  
In lost youth, or when my hairs be grey;  
Set me in earth, in heaven, or yet in hell,  
In hill, in dale, or in the foaming flood;  
Thrall, or at large, alive where so I dwell,  
Sick, or in health, in ill fame or good:  
Yours will I be, and with that only thought  
Comfort myself when that my hope is nought."

Kieren found himself getting so lost in the imagery, as Simon's velvety tones painted a picture in his mind that it took a minute after he'd finished speaking for Kieren to register that he was done. "That was beautiful," he managed to choke out after a moment.

"Just like you."

"Simon," he protested. Sure, Amy had always said he was gorgeous, moregeous - more than gorgeous no less, but that was Amy and that kind of talk was just who she was.

"No, you are, Kieren, you are." Simon leant forward and put the book on the coffee table, then turned to face him and reached out to cup his cheek in his palm. "You are so beautiful."

Finding himself the centre of that kind of adoration was slightly embarrassing, an almost uncomfortable feeling. Kieren tried to turn away, but Simon reached out with his other hand and held his face steady. "Simon," he protested. "Let me go."

Simon sighed, scooting nearer as his left hand shifted, burying itself in the hair on the nape of Kieren's neck. Kieren couldn't help but shiver as Simon pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. "You are so special, so amazing. One of these days I will get you to believe me, to see yourself the way I see you," he said. And then he kissed him.

And Simon's kisses....

Simon's kisses were always amazing. Beyond amazing. Somehow they combined the sensations of love and worship and safety all into one desperate feeling - like Simon was putting himself entirely into the kiss and he needed it like the living need air to breathe and food to eat; like by kissing him, Kieren was able provide some kind of sustenance that Simon couldn't survive without. 

Kieren wasn't sure he'd ever understand how or why Simon saw him the way he did, but he allowed Simon to gently pull the sketchbook off his lap and flip it closed and then take the pencil out of his hand and move them to the coffee table. "Kieren," Simon moaned, with that level reverence which always awed him. "Kieren." He kissed him again and again.

It was always as if his brain stuttered to a stop at times like these, between the kisses and the near worship of his lips, of him, Kieren couldn't think past _Simon_. Who Simon was and how he felt about him and, perhaps most importantly, how Simon made Kieren feel about himself. Kieren had come so far from the lonely and despondent teen who thought either he would never find happiness, or would only succeed in finding it if he travelled the world, running from his problems as well as who he really was. But none of that was necessary anymore. Kieren had found love, a lover who accepted him instead of hid him, and he had found a sense of self. 

He knew who he was now. He was Kieren Walker. He was a brother. And a son. He was a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer. He might not see himself as Simon saw him, but that didn't matter. What mattered was he was finally happy.


End file.
